


Jesse and Sara

by Shatterpath



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-16
Updated: 2002-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up to Rapids. Specifically the glimpse of the bond between Jesse and Sara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jesse and Sara

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of this tale was inspired by an actual episode of ER. I just took liberties with who was involved. Why? Because I could!

++ Jesse ++

 

(5-16-02)

 

“Smallpox? Are you serious?” I’m not normally foolish enough to question the Amazons, but, seriously, smallpox? In this day and age? “Is Mel okay?” As much as I’m worried for the population at large, there is one person in that hospital that concerns me in particular.

 

“She’s in the decomp tent right now,” Jane’s harried voice carries to me over the mobile phone. “I can hear her bitching out the feds.”

 

“Thank god,” I can’t help but murmur, and the catch of Jane’s breath is quite telling. As though our lives aren’t complicated and busy enough… “You call me if you need anything, understand?” It’s rare that I use my ‘daddy’ tone on Jane, as I consider the woman my equal, but I don’t need her being independent and stoic if she really needs help.

 

“Yes sir, I promise. And don’t forget that you’ve got that trainee coming in today from Dace.”

 

Trainee?

 

Uncharacteristic of my beloved partner, I can’t find him anywhere. Even a phone call goes unanswered. My memory is getting so lousy that this mystery trainee is a complete blank. Strangely though, my random roam through the corridors and rooms of the daylight-quiet Staff and Scroll gives me a chance to appreciate my domain. Business had been lousy there for a few months, while the population shied from this place in fear of the madman that had very nearly killed that adored blonde protégé.

 

“You’re pensive, sir.”

 

Like a ghost of my thoughts, there she is. Too stunned by the girl’s presence, I remain still as she pushes away from the wall, her stride eerily silent in those wooden-heeled boots she’s had since she was in her teens. Like a slinky cat, all soft threat and curiosity, Dace approaches, her eyes haunted and gleaming almost gold in the harsh florescent lights.

 

“Child,” I murmur in sympathy to the shadow of memory in her gaze. Decades later, I still hear and smell and feel the horrors I faced in a country far away, and the men who died there.

 

We cling together for a long time.

 

Cupping her pretty face in my hands, I wipe away tears with big, calloused thumbs and smile through the moist in my own eyes. “Delighted to see you, Lioness. Surely you’re not the mystery trainee?”

 

The feline chortle lights up her face and she covers my hands for a moment before stepping away just a bit. “No. Not that you aren’t a wonderful teacher, but I have someone else I’d very be very appreciative of to get some polishing from you.”

 

Her rambling train of thought is followed up by a sweeping gesture to the doorway, where Tiny looms over a painfully slender waif that almost visibly trembles.

 

“Sunshine! What a lovely surprise!”

 

There might be a squeaked ‘sir’ in there somewhere, but it’s lost in my striding over and sweeping her into a crushing bear hug. Once there’s a breathless gasp from the rough squeeze, I set her back on her feet, cupping her cheeks just as I had done with her daddy. The rich brown eyes are huge in her sweet face. “There’s no longer a reason to fear this place, Sunshine,” I murmur in my gentlest voice, remembering the terror in her face, written on the countless soldiers that I tried to save so long ago, and the men, women and children I’ve tried to save since.

 

Dammit, I’m getting far too introspective in my old age.

 

After a moment, Sara shakes off the initial fear of returning to this place where she faced death at the hands of that bastard that nearly took Dace with him. With a hard, gentle hand on the back of Sara’s neck, I turn my attention the smugly grinning Dace.

 

“This, of course, is the trainee.”

 

“Oh, yes sir.”

 

After a tour, where we skirt around the place where Snake-Eyes had attacked Dace, she and Tiny run off to goof off, and I’m left with the skittish Sara. She’s like a well-mannered serval on a leash. Every little thing startles her, and I nearly expect her to hiss and flash claws in reaction. Dace went to great lengths to ignore her behavior, with a few exceptions that were directly related to their past here. It is interesting to watch her, the way she has picked up many of Dace’s curious mannerisms, the way that shy sweetness has even the gayest of my boys eying her inquisitively.

 

A rich, light meal perks her up a bit, but I notice that she avoids half the dishes. “Is the food not to your liking, Sunshine?”

 

Once again, she flinches, but smiles a bit. “No sir, it all smells wonderful, but I’m a vegetarian.”

 

That makes me slap my forehead, and the little smile blossoms sunnily over her whole face. “Doh!” My Homer Simpson impression actually earns a chuckle. “We’re supposed to get all that kind of info ahead of time. Forgive a silly old man, Sara.”

 

That grin takes on a mischievous quality, and I’m suddenly struck by two things. “That’s the first time you’ve used my name, I think,” she giggles delightedly, but goes sober at the look I’m sure has come over my face. “I did it again, didn’t I?” She asks quietly, with a quiet sympathy that makes my throat ache. “Reminded you of that young man you lost.”

 

Ah, my poor, sweet Bruce. Second only to Tiny in my adoration and attention, that waif of a boy-man with his soulful eyes and heartbreakingly sweet smile. It’s more than looks that Sara reminds me so powerfully of him, but the cracked and beautiful soul shining in the depthless eyes they share.

 

“I found him on the streets,” my voice whispers into the thick quiet. “He was peddling himself off for a few bucks to eat, or to stick in his arm.” The pain is still fresh after all these years. “I cleaned him up and loved him dearly…” At fifty-one years old, my voice cracks like a teenage boy. “But I couldn’t fix the AIDS.” Tears choke me, blind me, leave me helpless in the grip of the memories. “He lived for years, but it finally took him. It took so many…”

 

In the wave of memories, all the loved ones I’ve lost over the years, from the Vietnam jungle, to sickness and hate and accident, I feel slender arms wrap around my great shaggy head, this woman’s accepting touch warming me.

 

Around her neck, my wet eyes finally identify the thing that once again draws the parallel between her and Bruce. It’s the collar he wore so proudly. Hundreds of tiny silver rings woven together into a band an inch wide. It sits a bit longer on Sara, as she is even more slender than that slip of a boy had been, and at the two ends, the many little rings cling tenaciously to a large, gleaming circle of white gold. When Sara and Catherine came here to Chicago to help catch a killer, I tagged them both with my symbol to help protect them in the shadows. Beside my roaring gorilla bust, is the upside-down gemstone heart of Anastasia, and now, there are a set of lioness eyes, etched in both silver and gold. Good on Dace for claiming this sweet gem as her own.

 

But what makes me smile a watery smile and grip the girl in a strong hug, what makes Bruce’s ghost grin with satisfaction, isn’t just that Sara still wears that beloved old collar with pride…

 

But that she has had it welded permanently shut.


End file.
